In the Shadow of Celebration: A Reckoning with Grief, Power, and Britain’s Uneven Gaze
Liverpool, June 5, 2025.
It was meant to be a day of joy. Liverpool’s streets—scarred by history, stitched together with community—pulsed with triumph. Children hoisted on shoulders, songs through cracked voices, flares colouring the sky. The timeless rhythm of football bound generations. It was a parade of champions, yes—but also a procession of working-class resilience and generational defiance.
Then came the rupture.
At 6:03 p.m., a Ford Galaxy ploughed through barricades. Screams replaced chants. Bodies collided with metal. Blood stained the concrete beneath feet that had moments earlier danced in celebration. In total, 109 people were injured, including seven critically and four children. The driver, Paul Doyle, 53, white British, an ex-military man and local businessman, was arrested on suspicion of attempted murder, dangerous driving, and drug-related offences. It was swiftly ruled not terrorism.
Naming the Whiteness, Evading the Narrative
In a rare move, Merseyside Police disclosed early on that Doyle was white and British—an intentional decision, according to Chief Constable Mark Rowley, aimed at pre-empting the kind of far-right conspiracy theories that had spiralled out of control following the Southport attack. Yet the media scarcely knew how to handle this information. Naming whiteness is not their habit. Holding it structurally accountable? Practically unheard of.
Instead, the headlines softened the story. Doyle was an “ex-Marine,” a “veteran,” a “local man under personal strain.” The Independent referred to “complex personal demons.”
“Had Doyle been Muslim, the same papers would have combed through his online history, interviewed his neighbours, and scrutinised his mosque.”
The Times ran:
“Ex-Marine Held After Liverpool Parade Crash—Motive ‘Unclear’”
The Telegraph wrote:
“Driver in Title Parade Incident May Have Been Under Influence, Say Police”
The BBC settled for the generic:
“Man Arrested After Parade Collision in Liverpool City Centre”
There were no policy proposals. No counter-extremism initiatives. No vigils addressed by cabinet ministers. No hashtags demanding justice.
Media, Memory, and the Politics of Selective Grief
“We are asked to grieve selectively. To feel differently depending on the face of the perpetrator.”
The Guardian editorialised:
“Liverpool Parade Incident: Questions Remain Over Mental Health Support for Veterans.”
And with that, the boundaries were set: Paul Doyle was an individual. A victim of his own demons. Not a product of Britain’s imperial history. Not a symbol of anything broader. Just a man who lost control.
His company’s social media followed Nigel Farage, Elon Musk, and Andrew Tate. Had Doyle been a Muslim or refugee, those affiliations would have ignited front-page outrage. Instead, they were ignored. Politicians would have demanded loyalty oaths from Muslim organisations. Tabloids would have asked why he was “allowed to stay in the country.”
Southport’s Stark Contrast: A Tale Retold in Fear
Contrast this with the Southport tragedy of July 2024. A 17-year-old, Axel Rudakubana—a British citizen born in Cardiff to Rwandan parents—was arrested after stabbing three young girls and injuring ten more at a Taylor Swift–themed dance studio.
Within hours—before his identity or motive had been confirmed—The Daily Mail ran:
“Stabbing Terror in Southport: Police Probe Islamist Link”
The Sun followed:
“Jihadi Panic: Station Bloodbath Sparks Fear of Copycat Attacks”
Social media exploded with Islamophobic disinformation. A fake name—“Ali Al Shakati”—was spread virally, receiving over 27 million impressions. Mosques were attacked. Fifty hate crimes were reported in a single weekend. National unrest rippled across the UK.
“Despite being underage, a false identity took on viral force.”
In Southport, fear was instantly racialised. In Liverpool, it was defused.
Who Is Allowed Complexity?
In Liverpool, Paul Doyle was granted humanity. His whiteness became a blank slate. In Southport, Rudakubana became a symbol of menace, his refugee heritage twisted into threat.
“To universalise guilt for some and atomise it for others is to weaponize identity. It is a second violence. It is a theft of humanity.”
Let us be clear: Paul Doyle does not represent all white men. But then neither does any refugee, any Black man, any Muslim woman represent their own. And meanwhile, the people of colour watching know—deeply, viscerally—that had the skin tone shifted, their entire existence would be on trial.
The Price of Silence
Tommy Robinson and Nigel Farage, who fanned the flames in Southport, were conspicuously silent after Liverpool. Their absence wasn’t neutral—it was calculated. Doyle’s face resembled theirs. His background evoked familiarity, not fear.
This silence is loud to those forced to hear it. It echoes in every Black, brown, Muslim, or refugee household that has ever whispered:
“Please, don’t let it be one of ours.”
“That whisper is a national confession. A confession that the British media, police, and political establishment have taught us whom to fear and whom to forgive.”
What Grief Demands
We mourn the injured, the traumatised, and the quiet devastation left in the wake of that moment in Liverpool. We hold in our hearts the bystanders who became victims, the children who now flinch at sirens, the families who went out to celebrate and returned with blood on their shoes.
And we mourn the three young girls lost in Southport—innocent lives stolen in a moment of terror. To the families and friends in both cities, and to the wider communities reeling from grief and injustice, we offer not only our sympathy, but our solidarity.
Solidarity That Does Not Falter
Let this be the moment when grief breaks pattern. When we stop measuring tragedy by the perpetrator’s passport. When the complexity of every individual is recognised—regardless of race or religion.
“We demand something better. Not because we are idealists—but because we know the cost of failing to name the pattern.”
We must insist on:
Uniform accountability
Journalism that looks beyond spectacles and scapegoats
A state that names truth, not shapes comfort
A Final Reckoning
Until we centre justice, not identity, Britain’s national story will remain fractured. This is not “white suffering” versus “non-white suffering.” It is Britain’s suffering. In its reckoning lies hope.
Let Liverpool’s song rise—not just in pride, but in purpose. Let solidarity ring beyond stadiums, beyond headlines, and into the soul of the country.
“Humanity must not be filtered by birthright.”
“We owe it to the wounded. We owe it to ourselves.”