Brandon To is a Politics graduate from UCL and a Hong Kong BN(O) immigrant settled in Harrow.
A few columns ago, I warned that Mark Hehir’s case won’t be an outlier, as Britain is drifting towards a system that punishes those who intervene and rewards those who do not. We are now seeing that warning materialise.
Walker Smith tried to stop a repeated shoplifter in Waitrose Clapham. He was sacked, after 17 years of hard work.
Sean Egan, store manager at Morrisons Aldridge, who has served there for 29 years since he was 17, was dismissed simply for trying to protect other shoppers and remove an aggressive shoplifter.
The details vary, but the pattern is consistent: intervene, and lose your job.
Because here is the paradox at the heart of it: the law permits intervention, but the system punishes it.
Under section 3 of the Criminal Law Act 1967, any person may use “reasonable force” to prevent crime or assist in the lawful arrest of an offender. The Criminal Law Act 1967 is explicit on this point. It does not limit this power to the police. It applies to ordinary citizens, including shop workers.
Similarly, under section 24A of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, a member of the public may carry out a “citizen’s arrest” where an indictable offence, such as theft, is being committed, and it is necessary to prevent escape or damage.
In principle, then, the position is clear: if a worker sees a theft and intervenes proportionately, the law is on their side.
In practice, it is anything but.
The concept of “reasonable force” is not precisely defined. It is judged after the fact, often in court, with the benefit of hindsight. A split-second decision, grabbing a bag, blocking a doorway, may later be dissected in legal terms: Was it necessary? Was it proportionate? Could something less forceful have been done?
Even more troubling is the civil liability that follows. If a suspect is wrongly detained, the claim for false imprisonment is strict: the mere fact of unlawful restraint can be enough for damages, regardless of intent. If the force is deemed excessive, the staff and, potentially, their employer may face further claims.
For large retailers, this creates a straightforward calculation: Stock loss is predictable. Litigation is not.
And hence the rational corporate policy is born: do not intervene.
But it is deeply corrosive. Because it produces a system in which the law formally endorses civic action, while all surrounding incentives discourage it. The result is visible on high streets across the country: theft carried out openly, with staff instructed to stand back.
This is not inevitable. Other countries have made different choices.
In the United States, many jurisdictions recognise a form of “shopkeeper’s privilege”, allowing retailers to detain suspected shoplifters with broader protection from civil liability when acting in good faith. The legal threshold remains, but the risk of ruinous litigation is significantly reduced.
In France, the legal framework goes further still. The offence of failing to assist a person in danger (non-assistance à personne en danger) creates, in certain circumstances, a positive expectation that bystanders should act.
Britain, by contrast, occupies an awkward middle ground. It grants the right to intervene but surrounds it with uncertainty.
If that balance is to change, the solution cannot simply be to urge individuals to be braver. It requires a more coherent legal settlement, built on three principles.
First, clarity.
The law should explicitly define what constitutes lawful, non-lethal intervention in cases such as shoplifting. Examples: restraining a suspect, blocking an exit, recovering goods, all should be codified to reduce ambiguity around “reasonable force”. Without clarity, the deterrent effect of legal uncertainty will remain.
Second, protection.
Employers who act in good faith should not face unlimited exposure to civil claims arising from the prevention of crime. Where a theft is clearly taking place, and an employee intervenes proportionately, liability should be bounded. Offenders should not be able to claim substantial damages for injuries sustained in the course of their own criminal conduct, while employees must not be encouraged to assume that intervention carries no personal risk. Safety training should ensure that those who step in understand the risk, rather than expecting unlimited compensation.
Third, support.
If the state expects citizens to play a role in maintaining order, it should share the burden. A national scheme to support those injured while preventing crime, such as covering medical and legal costs, would signal that civic responsibility is not a private gamble.
Alongside this, employment law must be addressed. Dismissal for good-faith intervention should, at the very least, require clear justification. Quietly removing employees who attempt to uphold the law sends a message that undermines public confidence far beyond the workplace.
When we are young, we are taught a simple truth: that good is rewarded, and wrongdoing carries consequences. It is a principle echoed in everything from fairytales to the parable of the Good Samaritan.
But we are now drifting towards the exact opposite. What kind of society are we creating for our kids?
If Britain wants to restore a culture of responsibility, it must stand with those who step forward. Because a country that fails to back its heroes will soon find it has none.