The Chorus and the Silence: On Freedom, Hate, and the Cancellation of Katie Hopkins
In every great city, there is a symphony of voices—some soft and tender, others urgent, many joyful and unafraid. Birmingham is no exception. Its melody rises from mosques and mandirs, barbershops and market stalls, jazz basements, bhangra beats, reggae shubs, and monthly Palestinian solidarity marches. It is a harmony built not on sameness but on solidarity.
Sometimes, however, that harmony is disrupted—not by difference, but by calculated division, malice, and manipulation.
Recently, a discordant note threatened Birmingham’s soundscape—this time under the banner of comedy. A UK stand-up tour titled “Batshit Bonkers Britain,” fronted by Katie Hopkins, was scheduled to appear at The H Suite. The show is a theatrical extension of her so-called “daily Batsh*t Bonkers briefings”—online performances of bile and vitriol thinly disguised as humour.
Beneath the mockery lies something far more insidious: a platform for bigotry, a cynical display of outrage politics, far-right dog-whistles, white grievance, and culture war spectacle. It is grievance politics masquerading as working-class common sense.
This is not fringe comedy. It is ideological entertainment—one that trades in cruelty, racial scapegoating, and a nostalgic fiction of national decline. It stages a choreographed form of “truth-telling” that purports to speak for ordinary people, while deftly redirecting public anger away from austerity, inequality, and exploitation—and toward migrants, Muslims, trans people, and the poor.
Katie Hopkins is not merely a provocative commentator. She has a well-documented history of inflammatory language, including calling African migrants “cockroaches” and referring to Black Africans as “feral humans.” She once expressed admiration for the discipline of South Africa’s apartheid-era military, and has stated that Islam “disgusts” her. She has claimed not to care if migrants die at sea, and has publicly ridiculed Black children’s names, food bank users, and disabled people.
She has also derided trans people, mocked the use of pronouns, and described gender-affirming healthcare as “child abuse.” These are not casual jokes—they are calculated acts that contribute to the dehumanisation of already marginalised groups.
These actions and statements do not occur in isolation. Hopkins has openly aligned herself with some of the most extreme elements of the British and international far right. She has appeared alongside Tommy Robinson—whom many critics have described as an Islamophobic grifter—publicly praised him, and shared platforms with him. She has also collaborated with Rebel Media, a controversial outlet widely accused of spreading racist and anti-Muslim content.
In South Africa, she amplified the white nationalist myth of “white genocide,” fuelling settler-colonial paranoia disguised as journalism. Her networks and influence extend far beyond comedy—they are woven into the hard scaffolding of contemporary fascism, masked in sarcasm, controversy, and Union Jacks.
She is not anti-establishment; she is its cultural arm.
Let us be clear: freedom of speech is one of the noblest of rights. It has lit revolutions, inked declarations, and elevated truth. But it is not the same as the freedom to incite hatred, nor is it a guaranteed right to a venue or stage. No one is owed a platform. Freedom of expression must always be defended—but so too must our communities, our safety, and our dignity.
Katie Hopkins’ rhetoric is not simply offensive—it is dangerous. Her repeated vilification of Muslims, for example, has real-world consequences. When she refers to Muslim migrants as “cockroaches” or describes Islam as a “virus,” she contributes to a climate that dehumanises entire communities and paves the way for violence. Such language has been used to justify attacks on mosques, harassment of visibly Muslim women, and the radicalisation of marauding racists emboldened to act. Freedom of speech should not become a license for hate speech that costs lives.
Hopkins is not “controversial.” She is strategic and deliberate. Her humour targets the vulnerable while sparing billionaires, landlords, and war profiteers. She mocks the marginalised—those bearing the brunt of structural inequality—and brands it as defiance.
What is framed as comedy often functions as misdirection. Her critiques rarely extend to those responsible for the cost-of-living crisis, rising rents, or crumbling public services. Instead, she scapegoats refugees, Muslims, trans people, and grassroots activists—those already facing systemic marginalisation.
Her bigotry extends beyond Britain. Hopkins has openly praised the Israeli military, tweeting in support of the IDF even in the face of serious allegations of human rights abuses and war crimes. She has referred to Gaza as a “hellhole” and has downplayed the suffering of Palestinians living under settler colonial occupation, aligning herself with some of the most reactionary forces of state violence. Her so-called commitment to free speech serves to uphold power, celebrate militarism, and erase the humanity of the colonised.
So, Birmingham did not call for censorship. We organised. We did not silence—we spoke. And our voices mattered.
As Noori Awan, daughter of the late Nazir Awan, put it: “This is deeply personal. My father believed in building bridges across communities through dignity and enterprise. Katie Hopkins stands for division and hate. I'm proud that together we said: not in our name, not in our city.”
We exposed, challenged, and opposed. We mounted a community-led campaign—not to ban, but to reveal. As Bob Maloney from Birmingham Stand Up to Racism stated:
“This win is part of a much bigger fight. With the rise of the far right and platforms like Reform UK giving racists space to thrive, it's vital we shut down hate wherever it appears. Birmingham has spoken loud and clear — no platform for racists.”
The decision by The H Suite to cancel the event was not an act of censorship, but one of civic responsibility. It was not imposed from above, but arose from the moral conviction of the community. The cancellation followed a powerful campaign mounted by Birmingham Stand Up To Racism, supported by local anti-racist organisations, families who have previously hired the venue, and promoters who regularly use the space for music and dance events.
Together, we exposed Katie Hopkins for her bigotry and challenged her platform. The venue chose to honour its relationship with Birmingham’s Black, South Asian, and Muslim residents — a decision rooted in solidarity, not suppression.
“This campaign is about more than one event,” said Jagwant Johal of the Birmingham Race Impact Group. “It’s about building an anti-racist city. Today’s result shows what’s possible when communities come together to say we want a Birmingham rooted in equality, justice, and accountability.”
Freedom of expression, as I have often argued as part of Kings Heath United Against Racism, “must never be confused with the freedom to incite hate.” Our city did not silence Katie Hopkins—we simply chose not to amplify her message. “This cancellation,” I added, “is a cultural stand against the vile racism that fuels real-world abuse and attacks. We will continue to challenge bigotry—with truth, unity, and art.”
Hopkins’ tour is not a subversion of power. It is an expression of it—a parody of rebellion that diverts attention from the root causes of inequality. This is not the work of an outsider pushing against the establishment. Hopkins has long enjoyed access to mainstream platforms—appearing on Question Time, hosting radio shows, and writing newspaper columns that have amplified her racist rhetoric to national audiences.
Her so-called comedy tour, which has reportedly sold out in major cities and towns, continues this project: spreading lies and racist filth under the guise of satire, normalising and legitimising hatred and division. Her show does not name the forces behind poverty, crisis, or the dismantling of public services. Instead, it conjures scapegoats. It mocks pronouns while ignoring privatisation. It targets migrants while sparing corporate landlords and elites.
Her faux populism masks her alignment with state violence, anti-labour politics, and punitive ideologies. It is not the language of liberation—it is the smirk of empire.
This was not merely a show cancelled.
It was a city, in all its beauty, refusing to become a stage for hate.
Let the headlines read: Victory for Anti-Racism.
But let the deeper truth ring out:
We did not muzzle.
We opposed.
We did not ban.
We united.
We did not erase.
We exposed.
And in doing so, Birmingham reminded the world that culture is never neutral—it is always contested. And this time, the people chose solidarity over spectacle.