Law and Order Threatened: Ex-Convict Leads Muslim Sectarian Surge in Birmingham

Paul Riverbank, 1/30/2026Ex-convict's political rise stirs community tensions, debates on identity, loyalty, and protest in Birmingham.

This May, Butt steps forward as a candidate for the Independent Candidates Alliance, chasing a seat on Birmingham’s City Council representing Sparkhill. It’s not just a numbers game, though the math looms large—almost two-thirds of Sparkhill’s residents have family roots in Pakistan. Around small cafés and halal butchers, talk turns over with each cup poured. People seem more interested in roadworks or gas bills than international news, yet here foreign policy keeps elbowing its way into local disputes.

Last autumn set things on edge again. When Maccabi Tel Aviv’s football fans were barred from their match against Aston Villa, security blamed threats and the risk of protest. Butt, true to form, fanned the flames on social media. He called on “Muslims across Britain” to support Palestinian causes, warning against those who would “desecrate” the city. Some called it a call to solidarity; others muttered about provocation.

At least once, Butt’s words ran hotter still. A clip surfaced from a rally—“Muslims are not pacifists... knock his teeth out—that’s my message to the youth.” No sooner did the video spread across WhatsApp and Facebook than the debates hardened. Older residents, wary of trouble spilling onto High Street, sighed at the posturing. Younger men, some wearing Liverpool shirts, some Arsenal, argued over whether it was bluster or something that might get people hurt.

The national press jumped in. Researcher Emma Schubart, with the Henry Jackson Society, didn’t mince words: “A convicted terrorist is standing for election—these races in Muslim areas could upend Labour’s grip on Birmingham.” Hard lines drawn, but out in the open market someone was selling mangoes by the bag, scarcely glancing up at the fuss. “Elections come and go, bruv. Still got to pay rent,” a shopkeeper shrugged, rearranging oranges.

And yet, it would be naïve to pretend those bigger themes don’t hang in the air. Rage and sympathy for Gaza still spark arguments at city council meetings, sometimes drowning out old grievances about housing allocations or bin collections. Trust, one hears, is wearing thin—both in politics and in the neighbourhood’s fragile sense of who belongs.

What worries many—though few say it plainly—isn’t just Butt. It’s what he represents: the blurring of protest and peril, the uneasy overlap of global conflicts with local politicking. No one has forgotten the case in Yorkshire either, where Jordan Richardson, just a teenager, was convicted of plotting mass murder. It sharpens fears that the old boundaries—between here and elsewhere, between passion and incitement—are fraying.

So where does this leave Birmingham, besides waiting for May 7th? Some insist faith in the courts and polling booths will see things right. Others wonder if the unease is getting baked in, too stubborn to dislodge. “People have their own reasons for voting, trust me,” muttered an older man sweeping broken glass from his steps, “You don’t have to agree, but you should try to understand.”

For now, the city carries on as it always has: busy, contradictory, half-listening for the next thing to flare up. Maybe it’s just another local election, another storm in a teacup. Or maybe, as some quietly fear, it’s the start of a much bigger reckoning about identity, loyalty, and what it really means to belong here.

Shahid Butt’s name has cropped up everywhere in Birmingham lately—sometimes on posters stuck to lampposts, more often in whispered fragments outside mosques or in the queue at the local off-licence. Most people know the headlines: years back, Butt landed himself in hot water in Yemen, accused of assembling a gang and plotting attacks on the British consulate, an Anglican church, and a hotel. The Yemeni authorities said it was terrorism. Butt said torture forced his hand. “Five years in a cell doesn’t mean you did what they say,” he’s told anyone who’ll listen. Old suspicions gnaw their way back as voting day inches closer.This May, Butt steps forward as a candidate for the Independent Candidates Alliance, chasing a seat on Birmingham’s City Council representing Sparkhill. It’s not just a numbers game, though the math looms large—almost two-thirds of Sparkhill’s residents have family roots in Pakistan. Around small cafés and halal butchers, talk turns over with each cup poured. People seem more interested in roadworks or gas bills than international news, yet here foreign policy keeps elbowing its way into local disputes.Last autumn set things on edge again. When Maccabi Tel Aviv’s football fans were barred from their match against Aston Villa, security blamed threats and the risk of protest. Butt, true to form, fanned the flames on social media. He called on “Muslims across Britain” to support Palestinian causes, warning against those who would “desecrate” the city. Some called it a call to solidarity; others muttered about provocation.At least once, Butt’s words ran hotter still. A clip surfaced from a rally—“Muslims are not pacifists... knock his teeth out—that’s my message to the youth.” No sooner did the video spread across WhatsApp and Facebook than the debates hardened. Older residents, wary of trouble spilling onto High Street, sighed at the posturing. Younger men, some wearing Liverpool shirts, some Arsenal, argued over whether it was bluster or something that might get people hurt.The national press jumped in. Researcher Emma Schubart, with the Henry Jackson Society, didn’t mince words: “A convicted terrorist is standing for election—these races in Muslim areas could upend Labour’s grip on Birmingham.” Hard lines drawn, but out in the open market someone was selling mangoes by the bag, scarcely glancing up at the fuss. “Elections come and go, bruv. Still got to pay rent,” a shopkeeper shrugged, rearranging oranges.And yet, it would be naïve to pretend those bigger themes don’t hang in the air. Rage and sympathy for Gaza still spark arguments at city council meetings, sometimes drowning out old grievances about housing allocations or bin collections. Trust, one hears, is wearing thin—both in politics and in the neighbourhood’s fragile sense of who belongs.What worries many—though few say it plainly—isn’t just Butt. It’s what he represents: the blurring of protest and peril, the uneasy overlap of global conflicts with local politicking. No one has forgotten the case in Yorkshire either, where Jordan Richardson, just a teenager, was convicted of plotting mass murder. It sharpens fears that the old boundaries—between here and elsewhere, between passion and incitement—are fraying.So where does this leave Birmingham, besides waiting for May 7th? Some insist faith in the courts and polling booths will see things right. Others wonder if the unease is getting baked in, too stubborn to dislodge. “People have their own reasons for voting, trust me,” muttered an older man sweeping broken glass from his steps, “You don’t have to agree, but you should try to understand.”For now, the city carries on as it always has: busy, contradictory, half-listening for the next thing to flare up. Maybe it’s just another local election, another storm in a teacup. Or maybe, as some quietly fear, it’s the start of a much bigger reckoning about identity, loyalty, and what it really means to belong here.