Festus Akinbusoye is a former police and crime commissioner
The final moments of Henry Nowak’s life should cause us to reflect on how we got here and thus learn the right lessons.
An 18-year-old boy lay bleeding on a Southampton pavement after being stabbed five times. He told police officers he had been stabbed. He repeatedly said he could not breathe. Yet instead of being treated as a victim in desperate need of help, he was handcuffed, cautioned and treated as a suspect. This was most likely a fatal error, instead of a deliberate neglect on the part of the attending officers.
His killer’s claim that Henry had racially abused him has since been exposed in court for what it was: a wicked lie.
The bodycam footage is almost impossible to watch. But if we avert our eyes, we will miss an uncomfortable truth. Henry Nowak was failed less by individuals than by a culture that I fear has taken over our public and private institutions.
As the first Black police and crime commissioner in British history, and as a former special constable, I have spent years defending for our police to simply do their job with professionalism, integrity, and respect for all – irrespective of race, colour or creed.
The public are right to be enraged, but all the rage in the world cannot bring Henry back to his loved ones. Courage is needed to prevent another family going through this tragedy.
Some have rushed to answer that question by claiming Henry’s death proves the existence of “two-tier policing”. I understand the anger. I share the outrage. But serious people should be wary of easy explanations.
A single case cannot prove a national theory. Yet, neither should we pretend there is nothing deeper to examine.
For years, policing has operated in an environment where accusations of racism carry enormous professional and institutional consequences. Officers know that a complaint can trigger investigations, suspensions and public scrutiny that can last months or even years. Most complaints are made in good faith. Some are not.
The result is a culture of risk-aversion and operational confusion and fear.
There is a fear of being accused of prejudice. When organisations become governed by fear, judgment deteriorates. People stop asking what is true and start asking what is safest.
That instinct can be found throughout modern public life. Universities fear offending activists. Civil servants fear social media outrage. Corporate executives fear online campaigns. Increasingly, public institutions prioritise managing accusations over confronting facts.
I regret to say policing has not escaped this trend. The lesson of Henry Nowak’s death is not that racism does not exist – I know it does. The history of British policing and several enquiry reports from Scarman to Macpherson demonstrate this.
Before entering public life, I was stopped and searched repeatedly. Between the ages of 18 and 28, I was stopped at a rate far higher than the national average.
I have experienced poor policing firsthand.
But the answer to poor policing is not to create new anxieties and new hierarchies of grievance. It is to restore confidence in evidence, judgment, and common sense.
The officers who encountered Henry should have seen a non-violent man on the ground that was not resisting arrest, not one requiring to be placed in handcuffs.
The Independent Office for Police Conduct must establish precisely what happened. Accountability matters. The public deserve answers and Henry’s family deserve justice. But accountability alone will not solve the wider problem.
We have built public institutions that are increasingly afraid to trust their own judgment. We train people to worry about perceptions, narratives and sensitivities, yet often neglect the simple duty that sits in front of them.
The first responsibility of a police officer is not to manage competing social grievances. It is to protect life and uphold the law.
That sounds obvious. Yet the reason this case has struck such a nerve is because millions of people watched the footage and wondered whether that basic principle had been forgotten.
Henry Nowak should still be alive, if not for a thug who chose to weaponise his race. Nothing can change that now.
The least we can do is learn the right lesson from his death: public servants must never become so afraid of accusations that they stop seeing what is right in front of them.
No ideology, theory or institutional fear should ever obscure that fact.
Festus Akinbusoye is a former police and crime commissioner
The final moments of Henry Nowak’s life should cause us to reflect on how we got here and thus learn the right lessons.
An 18-year-old boy lay bleeding on a Southampton pavement after being stabbed five times. He told police officers he had been stabbed. He repeatedly said he could not breathe. Yet instead of being treated as a victim in desperate need of help, he was handcuffed, cautioned and treated as a suspect. This was most likely a fatal error, instead of a deliberate neglect on the part of the attending officers.
His killer’s claim that Henry had racially abused him has since been exposed in court for what it was: a wicked lie.
The bodycam footage is almost impossible to watch. But if we avert our eyes, we will miss an uncomfortable truth. Henry Nowak was failed less by individuals than by a culture that I fear has taken over our public and private institutions.
As the first Black police and crime commissioner in British history, and as a former special constable, I have spent years defending for our police to simply do their job with professionalism, integrity, and respect for all – irrespective of race, colour or creed.
The public are right to be enraged, but all the rage in the world cannot bring Henry back to his loved ones. Courage is needed to prevent another family going through this tragedy.
Some have rushed to answer that question by claiming Henry’s death proves the existence of “two-tier policing”. I understand the anger. I share the outrage. But serious people should be wary of easy explanations.
A single case cannot prove a national theory. Yet, neither should we pretend there is nothing deeper to examine.
For years, policing has operated in an environment where accusations of racism carry enormous professional and institutional consequences. Officers know that a complaint can trigger investigations, suspensions and public scrutiny that can last months or even years. Most complaints are made in good faith. Some are not.
The result is a culture of risk-aversion and operational confusion and fear.
There is a fear of being accused of prejudice. When organisations become governed by fear, judgment deteriorates. People stop asking what is true and start asking what is safest.
That instinct can be found throughout modern public life. Universities fear offending activists. Civil servants fear social media outrage. Corporate executives fear online campaigns. Increasingly, public institutions prioritise managing accusations over confronting facts.
I regret to say policing has not escaped this trend. The lesson of Henry Nowak’s death is not that racism does not exist – I know it does. The history of British policing and several enquiry reports from Scarman to Macpherson demonstrate this.
Before entering public life, I was stopped and searched repeatedly. Between the ages of 18 and 28, I was stopped at a rate far higher than the national average.
I have experienced poor policing firsthand.
But the answer to poor policing is not to create new anxieties and new hierarchies of grievance. It is to restore confidence in evidence, judgment, and common sense.
The officers who encountered Henry should have seen a non-violent man on the ground that was not resisting arrest, not one requiring to be placed in handcuffs.
The Independent Office for Police Conduct must establish precisely what happened. Accountability matters. The public deserve answers and Henry’s family deserve justice. But accountability alone will not solve the wider problem.
We have built public institutions that are increasingly afraid to trust their own judgment. We train people to worry about perceptions, narratives and sensitivities, yet often neglect the simple duty that sits in front of them.
The first responsibility of a police officer is not to manage competing social grievances. It is to protect life and uphold the law.
That sounds obvious. Yet the reason this case has struck such a nerve is because millions of people watched the footage and wondered whether that basic principle had been forgotten.
Henry Nowak should still be alive, if not for a thug who chose to weaponise his race. Nothing can change that now.
The least we can do is learn the right lesson from his death: public servants must never become so afraid of accusations that they stop seeing what is right in front of them.
No ideology, theory or institutional fear should ever obscure that fact.