Why the conviction of Mick Napier matters for equal treatment under the law.
by Sammy Stein (June 2026)
During February and March 2025, I was subjected to three separate antisemitic attacks in Glasgow city centre by Mick Napier, the leader of the Scottish Palestine Solidarity Campaign (SPSC). On 23 December, Napier was, at last, found guilty in Glasgow Sheriff Court on two charges of Section 38 of the Criminal Justice and Licensing (Scotland) Act 2010—behaving in a threatening or abusive manner likely to cause a reasonable person to suffer fear or alarm, aggravated by prejudice related to religion, or a social or cultural group with a perceived religious affiliation, in this case directed towards me, a Jewish person.
One might assume that such an outcome would be uncontroversial and welcome. Racism occurred, the law was applied and accountability followed. Yet in the aftermath, several voices argued that it was somehow wrong to “weaponise” antisemitism by allowing the case to proceed as a racist offence. That reaction deserves serious scrutiny because it exposes a persistent and dangerous double standard in how antisemitism is understood and treated.
At its core, racism is defined by the act and its target, not by the political, emotional, or ideological justification offered by the person committing it. Racist abuse directed at black people is recognised as racism even when the perpetrator claims anger, frustration, or social grievance. Anti-Islamic abuse against Muslims is rightly treated as racism even when it is framed as “free speech” or “criticism of religion.” In neither case do we accept that the speaker’s intent, cause, or emotions excuse the behaviour. The same principle must apply to antisemitism.
Under UK law, Jews are recognised as a protected ethnic group. Antisemitic chants, slurs, or threats therefore meet the legal and moral definition of racist abuse. To suggest otherwise is not a neutral position. It is often argued that Jews should be subject to a lower threshold of protection than other minorities. Anti-racism cannot function if it is applied selectively.
One reason antisemitism is so often minimised is that it is routinely reframed as something else. It is described as political speech, protest rhetoric, or an understandable reaction to international events. This reframing is striking because it is rarely applied to other forms of racism. When racist abuse is directed at black people, few are willing to argue that “context” mitigates the harm. When Muslims are targeted with collective slurs, society does not pause to debate whether the speaker’s anger justifies the language used. Yet, when Jews are targeted, attention shifts away from the abuse itself and onto the supposed motivations behind it.
This reflects a deeper and more insidious problem. Antisemitism is often treated not as racism in its own right, but as a matter of interpretation. Jewish victims are told that what they experienced was not “really” antisemitism, or that it was aimed at something else entirely. This denial strips Jews of the ability to define their own lived experience and places them in a uniquely precarious position. Their safety and dignity become conditional, subject to debate, and dependent on whether others are willing to recognise the harm done.
Antisemitic chants and slogans are racist precisely because they rely on collective blame. They do not target specific policies, decisions, or individuals. Instead, they draw on centuries-old tropes that portray Jews as a single, homogeneous group, responsible for events far beyond their control. This logic of collective guilt is a defining feature of racism. It is what allows prejudice to metastasise into exclusion, intimidation, and violence. No amount of political framing alters that fundamental reality.
When critics accuse victims of “weaponising antisemitism,” they invert responsibility in a deeply troubling way. The focus shifts from the person who committed racist abuse to the person who suffered it. The implication is that Jews act in bad faith by naming antisemitism or by seeking legal redress. This accusation would be unthinkable if applied to other minority groups. No one would suggest that a black victim “weaponised racism” by reporting a racial assault or that a Muslim victim was wrong to involve the authorities after an anti-Islamic attack. That such language is deployed almost exclusively in response to antisemitism speaks volumes.
This inversion has real consequences. It discourages Jewish victims from coming forward, reinforces the idea that antisemitism is exaggerated or opportunistic, and signals to perpetrators that their actions may be excused or rationalised. In effect, it creates an environment in which antisemitism is tolerated at levels that would be unacceptable if directed elsewhere.
There is also a broader societal cost to this inconsistency. The credibility of anti-racism depends on coherence and fairness. If the law and public opinion respond robustly to some forms of racism while treating others as debatable or politically inconvenient, then the entire framework is weakened. Jews are implicitly told that they occupy a lower rung in the hierarchy of victims, expected to absorb abuse that others would not be asked to endure. This not only normalises antisemitism but also actively enables it.
The guilty verdict in my case matters precisely because it counters that pattern. It affirms a simple but vital principle that antisemitism is racism and racism has consequences. This is not about suppressing debate or silencing protest. Criticism of governments, including the Israeli government, is a lawful and legitimate form of expression. I do this myself.
Political discussion and disagreement are essential in a democratic society. But there is a clear and necessary boundary between political expression and racial abuse. Crossing that boundary is not an act of bravery or resistance. It is an act of prejudice.
Some argue that enforcing this boundary amounts to censorship. In reality, it does the opposite. It protects the integrity of public discourse by ensuring that debate does not collapse into the dehumanisation of entire communities. A society that cannot distinguish between criticism and racism is not more open or more liberal. It is simply more permissive of abuse.
Antisemitism has a long and lethal history in Europe, including in Britain. It has never remained static. Instead, it adapts to its surroundings, adopting new language and justifications while retaining familiar assumptions about Jewish power, disloyalty, and collective guilt. Treating it lightly, or regarding it as a lesser concern, ignores that history and risks repeating its consequences. Legal accountability is one of the clearest signals society can send that such behaviour is unacceptable.
Ultimately, this issue is about equal treatment under the law and equal moral concern. If we claim to oppose racism, we cannot decide that some forms are intolerable while others are negotiable. Antisemitism is not “weaponised” when it is named, challenged, and prosecuted. What truly causes harm is the refusal to recognise it, and the eagerness to excuse it when doing so feels politically or socially convenient. The guilty verdicts handed out on 23 December 2025 were not an overreach. They were a necessary affirmation that Jews, like all other minorities, have the right to live without being targeted for who they are.
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Sammy Stein was born a Jewish Palestinian, a description that causes much confusion with people. In 1948, he and all other Jewish Palestinians living in Palestine became Israeli citizens. He now lives in Glasgow and has two daughters, two grandchildren, and is married to Vicci. Sammy is Chair of Glasgow Friends of Israel, which celebrated its tenth anniversary in May 2025.
Follow NER on Twitter @NERIconoclast
One Response
Great article. I noticed that the language of Section 38 relates to abuse because of religious affiliation. Is there another section, distinct from Section 38, that deals with racial abuse only? I would be curious to know whether the penalties for those abuses typically are more severe, less severe, or the same.
Also, why was UK law applied in this case? As I understand it, doesn’t Scotland have its own legal system?
The Henry Novak trial is making people around the world aware of a growing two-tiered criminal justice system in the UK. In your case justice was served, but the reactions of some to the verdict are ridiculous and a little disturbing.