Last Friday night, as I was heading home along London’s Carnaby Street after a drink with a friend, a boy in his late teens cycled towards me.
He seemed to recognise me as he stopped, smiled at first, then said: ‘Heil Hitler.’ Then he pedalled off.
I nearly didn’t mention the episode publicly because I didn’t – and don’t – feel like a victim.
I was not threatened. I was not frightened. Frankly, after years spent prosecuting and defending allegations of racially aggravated crime as a barrister, discussing extremism publicly and trying to hold people to account regardless of any ideology, I understand
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